


Ingwaz

by Dream Mender (Llewcie)



Series: Rune Cycle [4]
Category: The Dresden Files - All Media Types
Genre: Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Nakedness, Spiritual sex, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 01:02:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5688556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/pseuds/Dream%20Mender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A full circle. Harry and Bob finally put the last piece into place. Some very intense talking ensues.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The second part of this was never written, sadly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ingwaz

**Author's Note:**

> Ing is the Green Man to some. Herne. It is the hearthfire, home, peace. It is male sexuality, which is first buried in the womb of Laguz… and we have come a full circle! Ing is also, and finally, the rune that is the power that unseats the interloper—the murderer that knocks on the door with intent to destroy the home. He’s not welcome by this hearthfire.

A slender figure I must have struck an outside eye, as I stood alone in front of the massive stone fireplace, my bowed head outlined in the golden blaze, my fingers threaded through my thick silver hair. Even this seemed more real to me, though the Dreaming was no more that my normal manifestation. Perhaps because here, Harry had touched me, however briefly. A slow sigh worked through my shoulders, and his name escaped my lips like a breath of wind. “Harry…” Was my life to be wrought of almosts? Having brought him this far, and now to have him freeze up, unable to complete this last short step? A flicker, and then I, too, was gone.

“Bob?” I heard his sleepy voice from my skull, but some contrary impulse kept me sulking inside. Not that I blamed him—not that I had expected him to declare his undying love for me there on that delicious rug in front of our hearthfire, which had been burning for the better part of twenty years. Not that I had expected us to just pick up where we had left off. “Bob, I know you’re there. Will you… _please_ come out?”

I blinked, surprised that my lashes were damp, and shook my head ruefully. I never could deny him anything. _Perhaps if I had been able to, we would never have had to struggle so hard._ Straightening my shoulders, I manifested in front of his bed, looking down at him.

And then I remembered, too late, that he had gone to bed naked. Would the spirits and gods never stop their play in conspiring against me? He was stretched out before me, the thin, summer-weight sheet twisted so that it had pulled off one of his legs completely. The resulting view left my anguished mind fully aware of just how long limbed he had grown, and his cock, half-aroused, pressed lazily against the thin fabric that just barely covered the rest. I averted my eyes, pressing my finger and thumb into my temples. “Harry, can it wait until morning?”

“No. It can’t wait until morning.” He sounded a little hurt, and there was a rustling sound as covers were drawn. I was torn—part of me wanting to see the rest of him, and the majority—the hurt part, wanting him to cover himself, if all we were going to do was talk. “I really wanted to talk to you inside the Dreaming… Bob? Are you okay?”

In for a pence… I opened my eyes. He had drawn his knees up, thigh resting on the bed and the other at a right angle, and his arms were slung around his upright knee. Completely exposed. I let my gaze trail down him, taking him in very thoroughly. There would be no mistake as to my intentions this night, regardless of what he felt for me. To his credit, he did not turn from me, nor did his muscles tighten perceptibly. He was as relaxed as I had ever seen him. Perhaps all was not lost, after all. “I am troubled, Harry,” I finally admitted. 

“You upset because I fell asleep?” His tone was gentle, and his eyes sparkled. “I feel really dumb, Bob. I didn’t even know it was coming, and then, bam, I woke up here.”

I gave him a tiny half-smile. “You were never very good at sensing it.”

Harry leaned forward a little, his hand stroking over his own shin. I watched his long fingers, my mouth a little dry. “Will you do me a favor, Bob?”

“Perhaps.” It never paid to hand Harry Dresden carte blanche. He gave me a long, languid look from under those dark, wickedly long eyelashes. 

“Take off your clothes. Come sit by me.”

I wasn’t certain I had heard correctly. So naturally, I responded with sarcasm. “That’s two favors.”

“The first favor isn’t optional.” And when I didn’t immediately respond, “Please?” 

We shared a long, slow look. A wizards’ soulgaze can’t happen unless the two wizards in question happen to be alive, but in this case, I saw fairly deep into him. This was no game, no cock-tease. Harry was naked to the soul, and he wanted me to share the outward manifestation of it as well. We were going to talk, and there would be nothing kept back between us. I swallowed, nodded, and tugged my loose linen shirt over my head. Harry’s eyes dropped from my face to my abdomen, and roamed over my now-exposed skin, his mouth pursed in thought. I allowed the shirt to drop from nerveless fingers, where it vanished into ether.

“I had… imagined. Dreamed you.” His voice was shaken, as if he were pulling it from very deep within.

“You’ve seen me like this, Harry,” I reminded him gently. But his gaze, when he brought it up to my face, was anguished.

“I don’t remember, Bob—not fully. It’s all so broken.” In that moment, he sounded seventeen again, and I cursed myself for an ass. He had been traumatized, and I was being petty—holding out on him because I had wanted so much to pretend like nothing had ever happened—like Justin had never happened. That bastard had done a fine job of ruining us both, and if I wasn’t careful, he would succeed in keeping us apart, as had always been his plan.

I untied the flap on my pants, a style I liked infinitely better than the skin-biting menace called a zipper, and stepped out of pants and boots in one practiced motion. My erection was heavy but not uncomfortably so—around Harry I had gotten accustomed to being semi-aroused pretty much all of the time. A peril of my employment, I suppose. He did stare, which pleased me considerably, and we were both quite flushed by the time I managed to manifest on the bed. I mirrored his posture comfortably, and so we sat in glow of candlelight, naked, and I could almost believe that I could reach out and touch him. 

Harry’s eyes flickered back and forth from my manacled wrists to my hips, to my shoulders and neck all the way down to the tip of my cock and across my knees to my feet and back up to my eyes, taking me in with an intensity that he reserved for his most dangerous spells. I contented myself with watching his expression darken, and feeling the thrill of hope blossom like a fireflower in my belly. Hope and I are not bedfellows—we’ve shared very little truck with each other in the past several centuries. In fact, nearly all of my currency with her since my imprisonment has been spent in the last twenty-five years. 

A deep, lush sigh rousted me from my thoughts of bedfellows, and hope. Harry was dark-eyed, his lips parted. Unmistakably aroused. He shook his head slightly, as if trying to clear it, and gave me a small, charming smile. “I, um. We need to talk, and now I’m having a hard time remembering what it was I was supposed to be talking about, Bob.”

I could not have been more overwhelmed. I groped for words, feeling much the same. “Harry… in protecting you from Justin, all those years ago, I considered you lost. I had hoped that your feelings for me would reestablish themselves, but in all this time, you’ve never shown the slightest inclination. I assumed that your love for me had developed along different lines.”

That seemed to sober him, a little. It sobered me as well. He reached for me, his hand passing through my knee, and I held my hand out to him. Our fingers touched, my manifestation glowing in fierce golden fire at his contact. Beautiful Harry. He swallowed. “Since I was seventeen I’ve had these… really bad nightmares. Of the lake, of the boat. Of the fortress, even.” His voice was quiet—low and shaky. I ached to hold him. “I never knew what they were about—didn’t remember what they were. Except that you were always there.”

I drew in a startled breath. “Gods, Harry. I was a part of the nightmares?”

He held a placating hand to me. “Let me finish, Bob.” A tiny smile settled on his lips. “The nightmares were always the same—I was in a boat, on the dock, in the fortress, and I was terrified. Just, sheer terror. Courtesy of Justin, I guess.” I nodded, wishing for all the world that Justin was alive, just so I might have the pleasure of killing him again—by inches, this time. “But if I could make it through my fear, you would be waiting for me on the other side, Bob.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I always knew you were waiting for me.” He paused, and then took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes meeting mine. “You’ve always been on the other side of fear. How could I fall in love with you when I… wanted to fall at your feet?”

I was speechless. We stared into each other’s eyes for a long, long time. I was the one who finally looked away, stunned by the absolute trust, the adoration I found there. What I had taken for fear of commitment was Harry’s anguish—his inability to redirect complex emotions that had plagued him all his life, while I had stood a pace away, blithely unaware. “And, now?” I finally managed. “Is it possible that you might… that you could love me, Harry?” 

He blinked, and I saw that his eyelashes were glistening with tears in the candlelight. “Possible? Bob, I’ve been wondering how in the hell to bring it up to you for the past couple of years!” Wildly, he pinwheeled his hands, as if that could take in the whole of his frustration. “I know now. I understand now that you were just as much a victim in this as I was. And it’s a lot to take in.” He peaked his eyebrows. I tilted my head back slightly.

“And?” I prodded, wondering if I was going to have to pry everything out of him tonight as if I were a priest and he a reluctant confessee. He blushed. Oh. His hands drew restless patterns on his shins and the tops of his feet.

“And… I was wondering if… tomorrow night would be a good night to, ah… try out that rug you say I made for you?” He was flush to his ears. I could hardly believe mine. I must have taken too long to respond because he began to backpedal. “I mean, we could do it another night, if you didn’t… if you wanted to wait—“

My brain snapped my mouth into gear. “No! I mean, yes—“ I held out my hand. “Of course I don’t want to wait, Harry. Yes, tomorrow night.” I smiled at him—the first time I had truly smiled in ages—it actually stretched my cheeks all the way up to my eyes. He grinned back at me, those gorgeous full lips that I had no problem imagining all sorts of lovely things about now, and then laughed, embarrassed and joyful all at once. He was a gorgeous sight—I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so happy. He reached around to the back of his neck to scratch an itch, creating a long line from his hips to his elbow. Lovely man.

“You know, Bob, I really don’t have the slightest idea how to have… how sex works like this. So I guess… that I’m in your hands.” His lips pursed together, and his eyes were downcast—the picture of bashful innocence.

This came as a bit of a surprise. “You’ve not had sex with a man before?” I struggled to keep my voice level, but I had a hard time believing that someone as beautiful as my Harry hadn’t been… well, convinced somewhere along the line. Especially given our history. But he just shrugged.

“You’re the only man I’ve ever been interested in, Bob. Who could possibly compare to Hrothbert of Bainbridge?” His smile was charming, but his eyes were serious. I flailed about for a moment, searching for something suitably sarcastic with which to defend my fragile grip on my emotions. 

“Is it my nefarious history that is incomparable, Harry, or my stunning inability to teach you Latin?” His eyes sparkled in the candlelight, his expression taking on something entirely new.

“Do you want to know what I thought about while you were attempting to teach me Latin, Bob?” He leaned slightly forward, his gaze stroking across my chest and forearms. 

“Is that rhetorical?” I canted my head very slightly. 

He rocked his head back and forth. “Uh uh. While you were up there by the board, declining verbs, I was in my seat wishing to Venus you would unbutton your collar. I wanted to see the skin of your throat so badly I could taste it. I had to stay after quite a few times because I couldn’t walk out of there with my dignity intact.”

I grinned at him. “And here I thought you had been volunteering to do extra homework.” He snorted, a very endearing sound, and looked mildly chagrined.

“I might have gotten a little more done if you hadn’t moved like a cat. Like a big jungle predator. God, I used to wish I could move like you—everything about you is so cultured—so …beautiful.” He was falling into me. I wished to the heavens I could support him with my hands, hold him up… push him back. Harry’s gaze fell between my thighs, and his eyes went wide. “Oh, You’re not cut.”

I glanced down at the hooded head of my cock and gave him a small half grin. “Things were a bit different when I was born, Harry.” My eyes flicked to his own cut head, which was glistening with a bead of pre-cum. His gaze didn’t leave my cock as his hand dropped to stroke his own length absently, his thumb spiraling around the tip.

“Is it too late to dream again tonight, Bob?” he whispered brokenly. I nodded slowly, entranced by his slow rhythm. We would have to wait for the Dreaming—trying it now would leave us with very little time, and that, shallow. I didn’t think either of us wanted to be shorted.

“Dreaming’s unnecessary, Harry, for this.” I reached over to his cock. It was beautiful—long and pale, like the rest of him, with the tip just beginning to redden. “Keep your hand where it is, Harry. Feel me move with you.” I sank my hand down over his and watched his eyes melt to liquid darkness, his lip wet and open. He groaned, “Please, Bob, oh… don’t stop talking…”

Harry’s not the most controlled person I have ever known, but this… this was sheer abandon. My own need plunged hotly to the basin of my hips and my other hand closed around my own cock and began to keep time with him as he rocked his hips into our joined hands. And he wanted to hear my voice? I loved this man. I loved him.

“Harry Dresden,” I murmured, “You have been in possession of my heart since I first laid eyes on you. Do you remember how you came to win my soul?” He shook his head slightly, his expression caught between fascination and ecstasy. “How you broke me—you, a mere boy of seventeen had me begging to stroke my fingers down your hips… fist your hair in my hands. Stars, Harry, I was on my knees for you.”

Harry’s eyes were glassy with lust, his unoccupied hand reaching for me. I felt the ghosting of his considerable heat through my manifestation just like he felt the chill of my own touch. Wizards manifest through several layers of reality, and Harry was a power sink of massive proportions. When he got angry, everyone with even a moderate psychic resonance in the city knew it. It felt incredible. We were silent for a long moment, just Listening to each other—Harry’s breath and his soft, keening moans. I growled in my throat for the taste of him… something I wanted so badly I could focus on nothing else. We spiraled together, he and I, his touch and mine becoming my touch on him, and his hand on me. For all I knew, it was so.

“You tried to make me behave,” he spoke at last, barely coherent. “Blood and ashes, but you felt so good—your skin under my… my hands. I remember. Bob, I wanted you, and your hands were stroking down my hips and—God, and my thighs and everywhere but where I wanted you to touch me.” He panted, eyes squeezing shut. I nodded, my head spinning a little. Justin’s blocks were falling away at last, melting in this furnace. Justin had never understood… love.

“Harry, you had no mercy on me that night,” I shot back, unsteady. “Your hands were… everywhere. You roamed over my… cock and ass and the… insides of my thighs—I’m thankful I had a layer of cloth to shield me below the waist.” Harry gave a strained chuckle, and his hips jerked, his balance uncertain. “But you lips and teeth made short work of me. Had you asked me…” I paused for breath, the beginnings of climax shuddering, a wildly sputtering spark in the base of my hips. Gods, Harry. 

“What, Bob? What—God, oh, Bob…”

I tried again, watching his back begin to bow. He took a deep, tremulous breath, holding it back with an immense will, and focused his eyes on me. I have never, never seen such need in him, and it nearly undid me. I licked my lips, and spoke. “Had you but asked, my promise would have been forfeit. I would have taken you, over and over, mouth and hand and anywhere else you desired, at your command. Because you may indeed command me—you have complete power over me, Harry, that has nothing to do with your ownership of my skull.” 

He was spellbound. I leaned into him, my voice a tense whisper. “But make no mistake. You _belong to me,_ Harry. Blackstone. Copperfield. Dresden.” I enunciated each of his names clearly—I knew them, and I could feel them tug on the very essence of him. He stared at me for one stunned second, and then his body caught up to his mind and he orgasmed explosively, shuddering and crying my name to the winds. My own climax followed like red chain lightning on its heels, and the world shook in its frame for a moment as I bowed over, my body arching into the boy-- the man that I loved. He bent forward into my coolness, inhaling sobbing breaths that tasted like my name. “Harry…” I murmured. “Harry.”

Eventually, the room righted itself. Harry had fallen back on the bed. I wanted nothing in the world at that moment more than to stroke his hair, and I told him so. He beckoned me down. “It doesn’t matter if I can’t touch you, Bob. I can still feel you here.” His voice was sated, his belly and thighs coated with a sheen of pearly wetness. 

“I would get a towel for you, if I could.” I snarked at him gently. But I didn’t really want him to get up. He peered at his stomach sleepily.

“I’ll regret it in the morning when it pulls on the hair down there,” he acknowledged. “You can rib me all you like, then, Bob.” 

I manifested beside him, my fingers ghosting over his fine features. He leaned into my cool touch with a blissful sigh before settling softly in beside me and drifting off. It’s nights like this I’m actually glad that I don’t need to sleep. This way I can be a sentimental fool, and nobody needs to know. 

Nights like this nearly made up for all the others.


End file.
